


Murder Mystery Date

by Kyss_31



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Male Homosexuality, Murder Mystery, New Year's Eve, Team Bonding, chapter 3 gets sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyss_31/pseuds/Kyss_31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's New Year's Eve at Stark Tower and Tony decides to host a Murder Mystery Dinner for the team and their friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Are Invited!

“You’re serious about going through with this?” said Steve, running his towel over his short, blond hair one last time.  He easily tossed the towel the 15 feet to the hamper just inside the bathroom where it landed with a soft “flump.”

“Huh?” said Tony from where he was lounging on their bed.  His eyes were glued to the expanse of muscles on Steve’s bare chest, still glistening from his shower.

Steve glanced across the large bedroom out of the corner of his eye.  He noticed Tony’s pupils were blown wide and his breath was hitching as he pretended to read the tech magazine that he was gripping too tightly in his hands.  Tony’s eyes followed Steve’s movements as he continued to walk towards the dresser along the wall opposite the bed, and Steve realized that Tony wasn’t listening to a word he was saying.

Steve stopped in front of the dresser and turned to face his genius boyfriend, placing his hands on his hips and keeping the loosening towel from falling off.

“Tony?”

“Huh?” was the only response he got.

“Tony!” he tried again, infusing some Captain America authority into this voice.

“Yeah, Babe?”  Tony’s eyes momentarily left off staring at the trail of near invisibly blond hairs leading from Steve’s belly button to somewhere beneath the towel.  He glanced up to the crystal blue eyes that were searching him out and became transfixed.  He flung the magazine aside, all pretense dropped, and began to shift himself onto his knees, making his movements slow and exact.  “Do you _want_ something?” he said, his voice dropping half an octave.

Steve rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.  “I _want_ ,” he said pointedly “to _talk_ to you.”

Tony didn’t pause, already on all fours and stalking down the bed.  “Oh, we can talk,” he said, nodding quite confidently.  “We can say things like, ‘Oh, God, yes!’ and ‘That’s it, Baby!’”  He reached the end of the bed and slung his gangly legs off, slowly standing up to face the taller man.  “Or, my personal favorite, ‘Tony, you are a god, and your tongue is your greatest weapon.’”  He grinned as he continued to close the gap between them.

Steve had become quite accustomed to Tony’s dirty talk, but it still made him blush to hear such things spoken aloud.  Seeing the color rise on Steve’s cheeks only made Tony grin more broadly and he quickly stepped up close to the super soldier, leaving only an inch of space between their chests.  He traced the lines of Steve’s muscles with a delicate touch, trailing his fingers down to the loose fold in the towel. 

Steve quickly clutched at the towel before it could slip off his hips and placed his other hand against Tony’s chest, covering the faint glow of the arc reactor beneath Tony’s Black Sabbath t-shirt.  He held the cyborg off while taking a minimal step back.

“Tony,” he said softly, a smile twinkling his eyes but not his lips.  “Honestly, I want to _talk_.”

Tony pursed his thin lips, making the black bristles of his goatee stick out more noticeably.  He looked his boyfriend up and down, confirming that he wasn’t going to get his desired reaction at that time, and huffed out a resigned sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered, turning away.  He clenched his fists and slammed his eyes shut when he heard the tell-tale “flump” of the towel hitting the floor after it finally lost its hold on Steve’s hips.  Tony very determinedly did _not_ turn back around.  Instead, he returned to the bed and flopped down, face first, next to his forgotten magazine.  “What did you want to talk about?” he said into the plush quilt.

What Steve actually heard was: “Waa ditoo won do taka bow?”  Luckily, after leading the Avengers for 8 months, and dating Tony for the past 5, he was fluent in Muffled-Tony-ese; welding helmets prevented sound from escaping as readily as they prevented light from entering, and Tony never liked to take a break from work just to hold a conversation.

“This party of yours,” said Steve, picking out his clothes.  “You serious about it?”

“Off tore ss! (Of course!)”

“Why would you want to host a party that’s so…morbid?”

“P-cuss iss phan!  N iss nuw nerss!  (Because it’s fun!  And it’s New Years!)”

Tony felt the bed shift and dared to poke one eye out.  Steve (dressed, damn him) was sitting on the edge opposite him, pulling on his socks.  He was wearing tan slacks and a lightly striped brown button up that was already tucked in.  He looked clean-cut, polished, and dependable, and it made Tony sigh.  _What is a guy like that doing with a fuck-up mess like me?_

Steve angled himself so he could see the part of Tony’s face that wasn’t pressed into the plush blanket.

“There are a number of ways to celebrate New Years that don’t involve glorifying murder,” he said, resting his forearm against his knee.

Tony propped himself up on his elbows and frowned.

“That’s not what this is,” he said, a little more defensively than was necessary.  “It’s not like anyone is actually going to get hurt, and at the end of the night, we get to _catch_ the bad guy.”  There was no change in Steve’s concerned expression, so Tony added on, “Think of it like a training exercise for the team.  We have to figure out who the murderer is before midnight.”

Steve didn’t do a good job of concealing his smile at Tony’s plea.  “We don’t solve murders,” he said simply.  “Why fight armies of aliens or robots…or robotic aliens.  We’re not a team of detectives.”

“But we could be,” said Tony, hopefully.  He popped up to his knees again and crawled towards Steve once more, this time without the slink in his hips or the lust in his eyes, but with a childlike glee.  “Think about it how easy it would be for us to turn our talents to sleuthing.”  His eyes were wide and bright.  “Nat can interrogate anybody.  I can hack anything.  Bruce can run lab tests.  Clint can spot clues anyone else would miss.  And _you_ , my dear Captain,” he placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, “would look at the bad guys with those beautiful, blue, puppy-dog eyes, and they’d by tripping all over themselves to tell the truth and say they were sorry.  And if they don’t, you can punch them in their lying faces.”

Steve bit at the side of his lip to keep from grinning at Tony’s outrageous plan.  “What about Thor?” he said, once he trusted his voice enough to talk.

Tony shrugged.  “He can bake us cookies to celebrate our victories.”

At that, Steve did laugh.  It was too ridiculous a notion not to.  Tony smiled at the sight and felt himself finally relax after worrying about Steve’s reaction to the party idea.  He relaxed further when Steve slipped his hand around Tony’s neck and pulled him close for a chaste, but not quick, kiss.  Tony hummed into the kiss and then settled back on his heels, feeling well at ease as he inched closer to his boyfriend.

“It’s just a game, Steve,” he said, running a hand lightly over his soldier’s forearm.  “It’ll be fun.”

Steve sighed.  He took in the innocent, pleading look in Tony’s deep, dark eyes and gave it a thought.  He supposed he had seen worse ideas for New Year’s Eve parties than a Murder Mystery dinner, and it would be fun to have everyone together again.  They’d all run off to their separate corners of the globe (or universe, in the case of Thor) for Thanksgiving and Christmas, so it was the first time that many of them had been in Stark Tower for over a month.  While he didn’t like the idea of them being pitted against each other to figure out which of their own was the “bad guy”, he could see that it was meant to be in good fun.

“Alright,” he resigned, rubbing his hand down Tony’s arm.  “I’m in.”

Tony actually bounced on the bed and threw his arms around Steve’s neck before claiming his lips in a not-so-chaste kiss.  “Good,” Tony muttered against Steve’s lips.  “Because I’ve already picked out a suit for you, and you’re going to look _amazing_.”

Steve sighed again, but let the dark-haired cyborg crawl onto his lap and kiss him even more deeply.


	2. The Gang's All Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party begins.

JARVIS had taken into consideration the personalities of the guests when it created the character profiles for the dinner.  But, true to tradition, the actual murderer was determined purely by random.  If JARVIS could have figured out a way to code and print out the summaries for the guests without the name of the murderer entering its memory banks, even the AI wouldn’t have known who was meant to be the culprit.

Stark Tower was nearly taken over when the Avengers moved in, what with all the extra labs, training rooms, conference rooms, and tech centers needed to run the team.  But there were still a few spaces that could be modified into party central as needed.  The guest list being small (team and close friends only), Tony utilized some of the smaller Stark Industries conferences rooms on a floor only a few below the team’s living space.  A decorating team, caterer, and barkeep had the stage perfectly set once the guests began to arrive.

Tony deemed it a personal responsibility to be fashionably late, even to his own party, so he was tinkering in his labs, still wearing grease-stained jeans and a band t-shirt (one he’d actually bought at a concert in the ‘80s and not as an over-priced replica) when JARVIS announced that the guests were beginning to enter the party rooms.

Tony barely acknowledged the AI, keeping his nose just centimeters from the circuit he was trying to reconnect to his back-up gloves.  But then JARVIS announced that “Captain Rogers” was entering the lab, and Tony immediately dropped the circuits and looked up.

“Steve?” he called.  He couldn’t actually see the lab doors due to a rather large piece of a generator from the hovercarrier that he was supposed to be fixing.

“Tony?” Steve called back, his resonant voice pinging off millions of metal surfaces so that Tony felt it surrounded him.  He rather liked that feeling, which was strange considering he didn’t particularly care to have other people in his lab.

Tony jumped up and rounded the generator, then stopped short.  The sight before him sucked the air out of his lungs and turned his legs to lead.

“Ooohh,” he managed to breathe out.

Steve was standing before him in a 1920’s era, pinstripe, navy-blue, double-breasted, 3-piece suite that was so perfectly tailored it looked to have been molded to his frame.  Dark brown, highly polished wingtips shown against the concrete floor of the lab, and a navy fedora with a broad, brown ribbon was clutched in Steve’s hands.  He fiddled with the hat, waiting for Tony to say something more than “Oh,” but the genius seemed to be mentally stuck.

Steve spread his arms out to the sides so Tony could see the whole suit.  Then, giving Tony a sheepish smile, Steve turned a full circle.

“So?” Steve said when he was facing Tony once more.  “How do I look?”

Tony starred back, not saying a word.

Steve dropped his arms with a huff.  “Honestly, Tony, you’d think you’d never seen me in a suit before.”

Still no response.

The leader of the Avengers narrowed his eyes and took an appraising look at his boyfriend.  “This is a fetish for you, isn’t it,” he said as more of a statement than a question.  “You keep saying that you wished you had known me in my own time.  That’s what you were trying to do with this whole party, wasn’t it.”

Tony gulped, but still said nothing.

“Well, you got it a little wrong, genius.”  Steve began stalking towards him, his wingtips clicking on the hard floor.  “I was _born_ in 1920.  I didn’t start wearing suits until 1937, and I could certainly never afford anything as nice as this.”  He had closed the distance between them and looked down at Tony with a smirk.  “And I’ve never been to a speakeasy in my life.”  He dropped a quick peck on the still stunned man’s lips, finally getting a reaction.

Tony looked up at the playful expression on Steve’s face, quickly shook off his welding gloves, revealing relatively clean hands which he linked around the folds of Steve’s blazer and pulled him in for a deeper kiss.  Steve met his lips with plenty of passion, but also a bit of a laugh.  He broke the kiss and dropped his lips to Tony’s neck, nuzzling at the sensitive skin where neck becomes shoulder.  Tony tried to press up against Steve, but found himself being pushed back.

“Nuh, uh,” said Steve.  “Can’t have you messing up my suit.  I have to look good for my date.”

Tony grinned.  “You want to come help me _into_ my monkey suit?” he said in a husky voice.  The emphasis on “into” made the word sound more like it’s opposite.  “We can make an entrance together.”

The mischievous look in Steve’s eyes grew.

_I’m a bad influence on him_ , thought Tony.

“I’m afraid, Mr. Stark, that for tonight’s festivities, my attentions are required elsewhere.”

“Huh?” said Tony.

Steve grinned.

“Tonight, I will not be Steve Rogers, the arm candy of Anthony Edward Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”  Tony opened his mouth to say that wasn’t what Steve was to him (and to express the impressiveness with which Steve had used the term “arm candy”), but Steve’s smirk stilled his protest.  “Tonight,” Steve continued, “I am Steve Roberts, and I have a date with the lovely Natasha Romaninski.”

“Roberts?  Romaninski?” Tony said curiously.

Steve shrugged.  “Check your bio.  You’re probably ‘Anthony Starsini’ or some such character.”  He flipped his fedora onto his perfectly coiffed hair and strut out of the lab.

\-------

It turns out Tony’s character was “Anthony Starzi” from Calabria, the owner of a speakeasy with ties to the New York Italian mafia.  The club, “Starz,” was the setting for the night’s festivities.  All the guests had arrived by 8pm and were enjoying their canape of anchovies and olives, listening to the light jazz being played by the hired band which was accompanied by the sultry voice of a petite brunette in a shimmering silver, knee-length flapper dress.

Tony sauntered into the room like he owned the place, because, of course, he did.  He was dressed in his own replica 1920s 3-piece suite – midnight black with a perfectly starched white shirt and a blood red tie.  He made a slow circuit of the room, stopping at each table to speak with the guests.  Everyone did their best to stay in character, but it was a little difficult to great a friend you hadn’t seen in a month as if they were a stranger.

The first table he reached, near the stage, held Thorin Odinguard and Jane-Marie Finster.  They were the boyfriend and sister of the lounge singer, Clara Finster.  Thorin seemed to be keeping a close eye on his crooning girlfriend while Jane-Marie looked like she had just stepped off the farm from Indiana.  She was the only woman in the room not wearing something flashy and revealing.  Tony tried not to laugh as Thorin excused himself to speak with the singer between her sets.  It was rather amusing how much the alien seemed to be enjoying himself with the game, and Jane broke character for a moment to smile fondly after him.  She quietly thanked Tony for inviting her along.  Tony squeezed her shoulder and whispered “You’re always welcome here.”

The next table was occupied by James and Pepper Rodenberry, a couple on their honeymoon.  Tony withheld his smirk and made a mental note to start the bets on that one becoming a reality within the next year.

He found Bruce Banly loitering along the back wall.  He was the club’s accountant and was waiting to collect the figures from the till for the evening.

“Good man, Banly,” Tony said as he approached him and clapped him on the shoulder.  A small CV on Bruce had been included in Tony’s bio so that he would know they weren’t meant to be strangers.  “I’ve been looking for the chance to tell you about a new shipment we’re expecting next week.”

Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow.  Unlike the others, he wasn’t keen on putting on a mask for the sake of a good time.  He had to wear a mask every moment of every day just to keep the Hulk locked inside his mind and was hoping that a little acting wouldn’t break his control.

“Oh yeah, _boss_?” he said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Tony nodded and took a sip of the scotch he’d picked up from the bar when he came in.  “I figured you’d want to know – a new set of… _brewing ingredients_.”  He locked eyes with Bruce and gave him a pointed look.  There was a trace of a wicked gleam in Tony’s eye that Bruce picked up on.

“Oooohhh,” said Bruce.  “ _Brewing ingredients_.  Riiiiigghhhht.”  He smiled at the other genius.  “I’ll be on a lookout for that shipment.  You know how much I enjoy coming up with new…uuuhh –“  His genius didn’t extend to coming up with euphemisms for the chemical experiments he did in the basements of Stark Tower.

“Let’s just go with ‘recipes,’” Tony suggested.

“Right,” said Bruce, relieved that he didn’t have to put on an act for Tony’s sake.

“Well,” said Tony, “keep up the good work, Banly.  I’ll check on the night’s figures in the morning.”  He left the sullen metamorph to sulk in the shadows and moved on to the next guest.

Nick Aestus (Latin for flaring heat/fury – well done JARVIS) sat at a booth by himself at the back of the room, glaring at everyone with his sole eye.  He snapped out his bio when Tony tried to say “hi” and told the host to move along.  Tony thought “surly delivery man” was a good description for their SHEILD liaison, but as he walked on, he couldn’t help but notice a satisfied smirk on the dark man’s lips.  Maybe their one-track-minded, kill first and ask questions never, wanna-be leader was a sucker for a little drama just like the rest of them.

Clint hadn’t been able to make it to the party due to one of his kids getting sick over the holidays.  That left only one table of guests for Tony to great.

Natasha Romaninski had been listed in Tony’s bio.  She had auditioned for the role of the club’s leading lady but had been passed over for Clara.  Steve Roberts was her boyfriend and Tony had to keep his eyes averted while talking to the pair so that he didn’t fall back into staring in awe of how at ease his lover looked in this setting.  Tony had given serious consideration to going with a WWII theme, but didn’t want to Steve to be reminded of the horrors he’d seen during the war.  So he went with something that would be a little nostalgic for the time-displaced soldier.  Steve appeared to be enjoying himself, and Tony felt proud that he could provide a little bit of home for the man trapped in a world that passed him by.

Tony lingered at Steve and Natasha’s table while they enjoyed their fish course (aiguillette of striped bass joinville – straight off the 1920’s menu for President Carter’s visit to the Waldorf).  The wait staff had just cleared the plates and were beginning to set up for the next course when the singer, Clara, announced that she was taking a short break.  The band picked up a lively tune and the chatter around the room became quite animated as the guests tucked in to the spring lamb chasseur.

Tony had a private table along the edge of the room where he watched his guests enjoying themselves.  The food was delicious, the atmosphere was bright and lively, and laughter rippled around the room from each table.  Even Fury was having a hard time maintaining his surly distance, and ended up inviting Bruce to join him at the table in the back of the room.

Everyone was clearly enjoying themselves.  But just as the last of the dinner plates were being cleared, a cocktail waitress came running out the backroom, screaming her sequined head off.  It would appear that Clara had been stabbed in her dressing room and was dead.

For the first moment since coming up with this idea, Tony wondered if a Murder Mystery dinner had been a poor choice, as he noticed his friends and teammates all tensed, ready to attack – something, anything.  Luckily, the cocktail waitress wasn’t the best actress, and the “terror” on her face was nothing like what they’d seen in the field.  Each guest mentally reminded themselves that this was part of the plan, and settled into the next stage of the night – figuring out which one of them had killed the poor girl.


	3. Who Done It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is afoot.

Motives for murdering the singer seemed to abound throughout the room.  It turned out that Clara had been skimming from the till and Anthony Starzi was known for taking such matters seriously.  If he had been aware of his employee’s theft, he might have wanted her dead to get rid of the problem.  Of course, Tony insisted that, as he is meant to be connected to actual mafia members, he wouldn’t have been so sloppy about it, but had the girl professional “disappeared” after her shift, not stabbed between sets.

They’d already established that Natasha had been passed over for the job and might have wanted to get the competition out of the way.  Nat, of course, played up the innocent little girl angle and had most of the guys eating out of her hand.

It turned out that Steve had been Clara’s ex-boyfriend, whom she left for Thorin.  Thorin might have feared she was going to go back to Steve, but there was no obvious evidence of that.  Still, jilted love and revenge were always popular motives.  The potential for either of them as suspects increased when Jane-Marie reluctantly admitted that Clara had been engaged before leaving Indiana for the big city.

Other guests’ motives took a little time to suss out.  Bruce had been cooking the club’s books and was afraid Clara’s petty skimming would make it more apparent to Tony.  The Rodenberry’s had been insulted by the small-town-minded girl who made it obvious she disapproved of interracial marriages.

That only left Jane-Marie and Nick Aestus with a lack of motive, though they each had the most access to the girl as Jane-Marie was Clara’s sister and could enter and leave the singer’s dressing room at will, and Nick’s delivery entrance was right next to the dressing room, and he could come and go through the back halls of the club without raising an eye.

It was all a matter of figuring who had the most motive as well as access to the girl.

The guests mingled around the dance-floor and hopped from table to table, trying to gauge the reactions of each other to what had happened.  Nat had thought that the game would be easy for her.  After all, she was the world’s greatest interrogator.  However, the fact that it was all an act meant that she couldn’t pick up on the emotional cues of those she talked to, and she couldn’t play off their fear of discovery the way she would if it had all been real.  By the time the raspberry Venetian ice cream was served at eleven, Nat was feeling completely flummoxed by the whole thing.  She made her way to the bar and ordered herself a few shots to help clear her head.

Tony and Bruce decided that the most likely candidates were the women and Thorin.  All the women would have had an easier time getting into the dressing rooms, and Thorin could have gotten past the cocktail waitresses because he was known for visiting his girlfriend between her sets.  The two geniuses figured that an established motive mattered little when dealing with a bloody murder that had the look of being committed in the heat of the moment.  Access to the murder scene seemed more relevant. 

They both ruled out Nick, though, based on the fact that his bio had him as not only the deliverer but also brewer of the illegal alcohol for the speakeasy, and he had been doing it for a long time.  Someone well established in a job like that would be unlikely to lose control like that and risk legal entanglement.

Of course, they both had just as much access to the back rooms as Nick did, but they quickly ruled out each other.  They agreed that they were both too smart to let their passions override their better judgement.  They wouldn’t have done something so sloppy.

As they discussed the remaining possibilities, Nat sashayed over to their table, looking a little unstable on her heeled mary-janes.  She had a tumbler of iced scotch in one hand and the other was plucking at her gelled down curls trapped beneath a feathered band around her forehead.

She siddled up beside Tony and declared, a little too loudly, “Tony is the killer, _obviously_.”

Bruce gives her a confused head tilt.  “I wouldn't say that's obvious.”

Tony leaned back and took another spoonful of the creamy, fluffy raspberry dessert. He expected Nat’s reasoning would be entertaining.

Nat took an unladylike swig of her drink and said quite simply, “Tony was screwing her and she blew him off.”

Tony raised an amused eyebrow. “Interesting conclusion,” he said, trying not to chuckle. “What makes you so sure.”

Nat swept a hand around to indicate the whole room. Most of the guests were glancing their way due to her loud voice.

“Look around,” said Nat. “Look at the ‘characters' your AI came up with. We’re all just ourselves in silly, shiny _onepehne_.”  She tugged on the gossamer fabric of her drop-waist dress and held it out for Tony to see her point.

“And you think Tony is a murdering philanderer?” Bruce said, not looking convinced, or amused, in the slightest.

Nat waved her hand at Bruce as if to brush away his doubt.

“He only killed her for the game,” she drawled with a roll of her eyes. “But of course he would have been screwing her.”

Tony frowned, no longer finding a drunk Natasha entertaining.

“‘Of course’?” he said. “I don't follow.”

“Oh, come on, Tony!”  Nat slapped a hand against Tony’s shoulder a little too hard to be playful. “You don't exactly keep a low profile with the ladies.”  Her red rimmed eyes searched the room for a moment before she pointed her glass at Pepper standing by the bar with Jane and Rhodey. “Especially the ones who work for you.”

Tony shook Nat’s hand from his shoulder and cleared his throat - a nervous habit when he wanted to keep his emotions under wraps. He and Pepper had ended their relationship amicably when the Avengers had formed, and he didn't appreciate Nat tossing it out there like it had been just another of his flings. But before he could say anything, she went on.

“And when you can’t be the boss,” she jabbed a painted fingernail into Tony’s chest, “you screw the boss.” She jabbed the same finger in the direction of Steve, who was sitting a few tables over with Nick and the cocktail waitress who found the “body.”

Steve heard Nat’s proclamation and looked up in time to see Tony’s face go pure white. The genius’s dark eyes went wide and his mouth went slightly agape.

“Okay, Natasha,” Bruce said as he jumped up and put a forceful hand on the dangerous woman’s arm, “I think it’s time for some coffee.” He took the nearly empty tumbler from her and led the protesting super-spy out of the party room while the guests watched with wide eyes.

Steve got to his feet and was halfway to Tony’s table when the smaller man suddenly burst up from the table and bolted out a side door. Steve had no trouble catching up to him in a small office down the hall. Tony was leaning heavily against the large desk, trying to breathe, but not getting much air in past his hammering heart.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve whispered, placing a large hand on the quivering man’s back. “She didn't mean it the way it sounded. I'm sure it was just too much alcohol addling her brain.”

Tony tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs clamped down, shoving all the air out before the oxygen could get picked up by his bloodstream. His vision narrowed as he stared at a random spot on the desktop.

“Tony?”

Still no luck taking a breath.

“Tony! Breathe, baby! You need to breathe!” Steve stood along Tony's side, rubbing one large, warm hand over his back, while the other hand was held against his quacking chest, feeling his lungs struggling to do their job.

“Breathe in,” Steve ordered in his best Captain America voice, “and out….Again. In...and out.”

Tony tried to focus on the sound of Steve’s voice. He closed his eyes and let the hands on the front and back of his ribcage steady him. He felt the heat emanating from the supersoldier soaking in through his suit and he leaned into the warmth.

It had been a long time since Tony’s last panic attack. He hadn’t had one at all since a minor freak out just before his first date with Steve that past summer. He’d had Pepper to talk him through it, reminding him that Steve wouldn't have asked him out if he didn't actually like him. Now he had the man himself.

He leaned into Steve’s arms and rested his head against soft wool fabric encasing Steve’s chest. Steve continued to rub his hand over Tony’s back, trying to ease out the last of his shivering, and listened to the lithe man’s breathing even itself out.

Steve waited until Tony’s breathing had been steady for over a minute before asking, “You okay?”

Tony tried a deep breath, which hitched in his throat and made him shudder. Steve held him more closely, pressing his warm hand to the back of Tony’s neck.

“Better,” Tony squeaked out, his throat rough from hyperventilating.

Steve pulled him around and wrapped his arms firmly around the smaller man.  Tony sighed and nestled his head against Steve’s neck, digging his fingers into the folds of Steve’s waistcoat to hold the muscled man close.  They stood that way for several minutes, breathing in each other’s scent.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Tony said suddenly, pulling back to look Steve in the eye.  “I’m not just screwing the boss.”

“I know.  I know!” said Steve, placing his hands on either side of Tony’s face to stop the inevitable rambling.  “I know what this means to you – what _we_ mean to you.  Just as you know what you mean to _me_.”

Tony nodded, not meeting Steve’s eye for a moment.  He concentrated on his fingers which were wrapped around the narrow lapels of Steve’s waistcoat.  Steve had left his blazer back in the “club,” and Tony found himself thinking that the 1920’s waistcoats had far too many buttons.  He wrapped the nimble fingers of one hand around the first button and began maneuvering it through its hole.

“Tony,” Steve breathed, bringing his hands down over the other man’s.  “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

Again, Tony nodded without looking up.  He finished with the first button and slid his hands, still covered by Steve’s, down to the next one.

“Look at me,” said Steve, pushing Tony’s chin up with one hand while trying to stop the unbuttoning of his waistcoat with the other.

Tony raised his head and met Steve’s gaze, letting the taller man see the pain and fear and doubt that resided in his eyes.  Steve understood, then: Tony wasn’t trying to prove something – he needed to be shown.  He needed Steve to prove to _him_ that he knew this wasn’t a fling, that Tony wasn’t just using him.  He needed to feel how much Steve wanted him.

Steve was never able to overlook someone in distress.  If that person happened to be his handsome, charming, sarcastic boyfriend, that just made it all the more difficult to not give in.  So Steve wrapped his hands around Tony once more, and brought their lips together.  The kiss started out light and gentle, but it built up slowly to something much more heated.

Tony made quick work of the rest of the buttons on Steve’s waistcoat and pushed the soft material over his shoulders.  Steve had to drop his arms from around Tony to get the form-fitted vest all the way off, but as soon as he had his dark-haired lover back in his arms, Steve wrapped his thick hands under Tony’s thighs and lift the smaller man off his feet, setting him gently on the large desk.  Tony wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist and looped a finger under Steve’s tie, pulling him in close.

Tony’s suit jacket and waistcoat quickly joined Steve’s on the floor, as did their ties.  They both kicked out of their shoes and Steve had to force himself to not rip Tony’s shirt open, taking the time to undo the buttons one at a time.  Once smooth collarbone and chest was revealed, Steve dropped his lips to Tony’s torso, licking and sucking on the scarred flesh around the glowing arc reactor.

Tony moaned and let his head fall back.  He carded his fingers through Steve’s short, blond hair and bucked his hips off the desk.  Steve’s fingers found the buttons on Tony’s highwaisted slacks and had a much easier time getting them undone than Tony had had figuring out how to put them on.  Steve’s hand trailed beneath the loosened waistband, tugging at the dress shirt to expose more pale white skin.  His lips surrounded Tony’s left nipple and he let the heat of his mouth relax the sensitive skin before he gave it a light bite.  Tony bucked again, gripping the back of Steve’s neck to hold him in place while wanting him to keep moving, to touch him everywhere.

They were both breathing heavy now.  Steve took half a step back and flung his shirt to the floor.  Tony gave a distressed whine and clawed at his shoulders to pull him back.  Steve obeyed and claimed Tony’s lips as his prize for returning.  He pressed his tongue into Tony’s mouth and Tony moaned around it, sucking on him and massaging him with his own tongue while his hands tried desperately to figure out the button and clasp system of Steve’s pants.

Tony left a trail of hot, wet kisses down Steve’s jaw and onto his neck.  He felt the thick, corded muscles beneath his lips and ran his teeth over one that stuck out a little more than the rest.  Steve groaned and pressed his bare chest against the thinner man.

Tony licked a line up Steve’s neck to his ear.  Just before nipping at Steve’s earlobe, he said, “Want you,” in a husky, breathy voice.

Steve groaned again, pulling Tony even closer.  Their groins rubbed against each other through the thick, warm fabric that still separated them.  Tony could feel how ready Steve was, the massive cock straining against the thick material.  Tony’s dick throbbed from the friction being generated by their grinding.

“Please, Steve,” he whispered, his breath hot on Steve’s neck.

Steve captured Tony’s lips once more, his kiss a promise that he would treat him right.  Steve wrapped his hands under Tony’s thighs once more and carefully lowered him off the desk.  Tony let his pants and briefs drop to the floor and he kicked them aside, then found himself being turned around.  He faced the desk and placed his hands on its flat, heated surface, in much the same position he’d been when Steve had first entered the room.

Steve pressed up against Tony’s backside, running his hands down Tony’s bared thighs and up his stomach.  Tony pressed his ass back against Steve’s groin, feeling the thick fabric that still separated them.

Steve pressed one hand against Tony’s lower abdomen, holding him still, while the other hand finished unfastening his own pants.  He pushed them and his boxers down past his muscled thighs, and pressed his freed cock against Tony’s split cheeks.  Tony groaned and pushed back, wanting – _needing_ – to feel Steve inside him.

Steve slid his pulsing dick over the split in Tony’s ass a few times, feeling the soft skin that just barely coved the clenching muscles.  He ran his hands up Tony’s back, keeping his touch light, and feeling his lover quiver at the sensation.  He gripped Tony’s left shoulder and slid the fingers of his right hand across Tony’s cheek and into his gaping mouth.  Tony clamped his lips shut over the thick, warm fingers and sucked on them while grinding his hips back against Steve’s dick.

When his fingers felt sufficiently moistened, Steve slid them out of Tony’s mouth and pressed them against his puckering hole.  Steve inserted his first finger and Tony thrust himself back onto it, trying to drive him deeper.  The second finger was soon to follow the first and Steve began scissoring them apart, stretching the hole while slicking it up with Tony’s saliva.  He curled his fingers down and found the pulsing knot of nerves, making Tony whimper and his knees shake.  Steve pushed the third finger inside and stretched him further, but Tony was already gasping and shaking, getting close to finishing before Steve had hardly begun.  That wasn’t allowed.

Steve smirked at the backside of his quaking boyfriend.  He slid his fingers out of Tony’s hole and brought his palm down on the fleshiest part of his butt with a _crack_.  Tony yelped, his eyes forced wide.  The sting of the slap rippled through his whole body, as if each nerve ending had experienced it firsthand.  It hadn’t been a painful slap – Steve hadn’t put any muscle behind it.  But the shock factor brought Tony back from the edge just enough to let Steve catch up to him.

Steve rolled up a wad of spit with his tongue and spat into his hand, then rubbed the clear fluid over his dick, mixing the saliva and pre-cum until he was slicked up.  He pressed the tip of his dick against Tony’s stretched and winking hole and pulled Tony’s hips back against him, sheathing himself inside the smaller man.

Tony pushed off the desktop while Steve held himself still.  The cyborg set a slow pace, letting the muscles in his sphincter reacquaint themselves with the familiar pressure, until he felt his butt cheeks come in contact with Steve’s hip bones and had the sensation in his abdomen of being completely full.  They rested together for just a moment, enjoying that first bottoming out, and then Tony began to move again.  He thrust himself back onto Steve at a steady pace, letting the heat between them build in their groins.  Steve slid one hand down from Tony’s hip and wrapped it around his dick instead so that Tony could thrust forward into his hand.

Steve let Tony do most of the work, while he got to admire the wiry muscles in Tony’s back.  He ran his fingers through Tony’s thick, black curls and was glad Tony hadn’t cut them for Christmas like he had talked about.  Steve curled his knuckles into the dark hair and tugged on Tony’s scalp.  Tony panted from the new sensation and sped up his pace.

The two men rocked together, their breathing becoming labored and their muscles aching from the need to feel release.  Steve pulled Tony up away from the desk, bringing them solidly back to front.  He mouthed at Tony’s neck and shoulder and took over the rhythm as he felt them getting closer.  He tightened his grip on Tony’s dick and began to alternate pulling on it and thrusting deep into Tony’s ass.

Tony could do little more than moan as he found himself on the edge once more.  He wrapped his long fingers around Steve’s neck and closed his eyes so that he could concentrate on the duel sensations of the physical pleasure Steve was giving him and the emotional connection the two shared.

When the sensation became too much, Tony’s back arched and he strained against his lover’s grip.  With a shout, he released his seed across the desktop, leaving tiny white droplets standing out against the dark, polished surface.  Steve groaned and pulled Tony against him once more, spilling his own seed deep inside him.  Tony felt the heat from the semen spreading through his abdomen and sighed, leaning heavily against his soldier’s chest.

They wrapped their arms around one another and stood together in the darkened room for a time, letting their breathing and heartrates return to normal.  Tony rested the back of his head against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve nuzzled his hair and dropped soft kisses along his outstretched neck.

“Love you,” Tony whispered, his eyes still closed.  He didn’t see the sweet satisfied smile that played out on Steve’s face, but he knew it was there.

“I love you, too.”


	4. Happy New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the winner is....

It was quarter to midnight when Steve and Tony returned to the party.  The small group of guests were talking quietly together, having gathered all the chairs around just two of the tables.  Nat was standing by herself at the bar, nursing a mug of hot, black coffee.  The band continued to play slow jazz tunes, and a tall, cool blonde was now singing on stage.

“Did we miss the big reveal?” Steve asked, his arm draped possessively across Tony’s shoulders.

“We were just about to tally up the votes,” said Bruce, holding out two slips of paper and some pens.  “Gentlemen, if you would please cast your ballots.”

Steve and Tony quickly circled their picks, folded their ballots and dropped them in the fedora Bruce held out to them.  The scientist shook the hat up and began pulling the ballots out at random.  He quickly tallied the nine votes and announced: “Well, that’s four votes for me – seriously, guys?  Two votes for Nat, two for Pepper, and one for Thor.”  He dropped the slips of paper back in the hat and slumped in his chair.  “Seriously?” he said again.  “Me?”

“You had the most to gain from Clara’s death,” Pepper explained.  She was still sitting next to Rhodey – unnecessarily close now that the game was done.  Tony added a caveat to his earlier mental note that the summer months were bound to be popular picks.  “You had to keep Tony from finding out that she was stealing so he wouldn’t find out that _you_ were.  And you had unlimited access to the back rooms.”  She gave a shrug and an apologetic smile.  “It seemed to fit.”

Bruce slumped down further, not meeting anyone in the eye.

Tony reached over and patted his shoulder.  Few people were really allowed to touch Bruce, but Tony had always been one of them.

“Alright,” said Tony, giving Bruce an encouraging shake.  “Bruce didn’t do it.  So I guess that means most of you lost.”

He glanced around the tight circle.

“So then,” he spread his hands to the group.  “Out with it.  Who’s the actual killer?”

They all shared questioning glances.

Thor, who had been smiling a fair amount the entire night, suddenly split his face into a massive grin.  He leapt to his feet, letting his chair fall over backwards.

“It was I!” he cried triumphantly, thrusting his fists into the air.  “ _I_ killed the singer, Clara.”  He rested his right hand over his heart (or at least where his heart was likely to be if he had anatomy similar to a human).  “I was so distraught to learn that she was betrothed to another from her home town.  I could not bear to partake in her betrayal towards him.  As I could not foresee a proper method for making amends to the man whom she had left, I felt the proper recourse was to end her life, and therefore her betrayal.”  He hung his head.  “I deeply regret that our relationship had to come to such an end.”

The room was silent for several seconds, save for the soft sounds of the band on the other side of the room.  Suddenly, a tittering laugh erupted from Jane’s mouth and was immediately taken up by the group.  They all laughed and jumped up to congratulate Thor on his wonderful performance.  Even Nat rejoined the group and gave the alien a firm hug.

After a few minutes of laughing it off, Bruce called for quiet.

“Wait a second,” he said.  “Someone figured it out.  Who voted for Thor?”  He held up the only ballot to have been correct.

Again, the group shared a look around the room, before Steve held up his hand and gave them a sheepish look.

He shrugged when they all turned to him.  “The betrayed lover seemed like the strongest motive, and Thor had been speaking with the girl off stage all evening.”

Tony looked up at his bashful boyfriend with pride and admiration evident on his face.  He leaned up and caught Steve’s lips in a quick kiss.  “Well done, fearless leader,” he whispered.  “Told you, you’d make a great detective.”

Steve chuckled and bumped Tony a little bit away from him, trying to reduce the flush spreading up his neck.

The group congratulated Steve for figuring it out, and the young brunette who’d played Clara returned to the stage, joining the blonde for the final numbers of the night.

The band announced that they were 2 minutes from midnight.  The back wall of the club suddenly rippled and began to fold away into the wings, revealing a wall of windows that overlooked Manhattan.  A few early fireworks could be seen in the distance, but mostly the lights danced beneath them from the tops of the buildings rather than from the sky.

Champagne flutes were passed to each guest and they quickly crowded up against the glass.

Tony found himself suddenly standing next to Natasha.  Her lips were held tight and she was tapping her nails against her flute.

Tony wasn’t sure what he should, or even could, say to her, so he kept his eyes on the skyline.

“I’m sorry.”

If Tony hadn’t noticed Nat’s lips moving in her reflection on the glass, he wouldn’t be sure she was the one who’d spoken.

“I was feeling rather out of my element,” she went on.  “Pretending to commit a murder and actually committing one cause very different reactions to interrogation.  No one was acting right, and I couldn’t get a read on anyone.”  She sighed and tipped her head down, staring into the depths of her champagne.  “I was just trying to get people to react like themselves for a moment – to feel something _real_.  But I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

She finally looked up and met his eyes.  Tony knew that Nat could make people see any emotion on her face that she chose, but he suspected that the regret there was genuine.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

The singers at the microphones began the countdown to midnight.  Tony tapped his flute against Nat’s.

“Happy New Year,” he said, though it sounded more like “I forgive you.”

When the countdown reached zero, the fireworks started in earnest outside the windows, and Tony found himself being pulled against a familiarly strong, solid chest.  He turned into the embrace and caught Steve’s lips with his own, wrapping a hand around his neck and holding him in close as the small group of friends toasted in the new year.

“Happy New Year, Tony,” Steve said once they broke apart.

Tony grinned up at him.

“Happy New Year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all my fellow AO3-ers!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a random writing prompt: Plan a murder mystery dinner party. Create the dinner menu and the guest list, and design the murder plot.


End file.
